


The Only Numbers that Matter

by LinaLuthor



Series: 2020 Fódlan Summer Olympics [6]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beach Volleyball, Edeleth, Established Relationship, F/F, Fodlan Summer Olympics, betaed we don't die like odessa, bickering to the max, cathmir, love and bickering, parents being a pain, these two have been married for a while now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:14:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26016331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinaLuthor/pseuds/LinaLuthor
Summary: Catherine and Shamir have been playing beach volleyball (and been together as well) for a decade or so. Once an unlikely duo training under Alois, they slowly made their way to the top and found themselves on the Olympics. The place where they were able to show not only their technique, but what ten years of playing and being loving partners has allowed them to accomplish.The day has finally come for them to face the famous Brigid duo that has made a flawless campaign throughout the Olympics. As always there's enough chaos and bickering both before and during the match. However, things take a turn for the unexpected when the last person they wanted to see shows up in the audience itself.
Relationships: Catherine/Shamir Nevrand, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth
Series: 2020 Fódlan Summer Olympics [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881421
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27





	The Only Numbers that Matter

A whistle blew, Catherine instinctively bent her knees in preparation to intercept the serve which would be coming from the other side of the field. There she was, at last, in the place where she felt most at home. Yet that was no mere mock match on a beach, or small tourney she and Shamir had qualified to.

No, that was the final game of the Fodlan Olympics. And damn if she wasn't proud to simply be there to begin with.

After many, many years of properly training under the sun, over the rough sand of some Fódlan beach or another, no less. How many mornings hadn’t both she and her wife spent running laps around the sea before the sun was up, then proceed to conditioning exercises and proper practice as the day went by?

Catherine had never been good with numbers, as her family could gloomily attest to. So in the end it didn’t matter how far they had run, the amount of hours they had spent honing their bodies and minds to the spirit of the game they had started playing after coach Alois saw their potential as a pair, one fateful afternoon when they agreed to a mock match against bored Jeralt and Sitri. 

No, it had always come down to moments like these. When the ball went over the net and she bent her knees, then used all the strength her legs had harnessed in order to propel her body up. Up until her hands could reach the upcoming ball and send it back. Preferably fast. Preferably in a way their opponents could neither predict nor counter.

Yes, why should she even pay attention to numbers when the things she had always sought were the adrenaline and sense of overcoming herself, her own limitations?

The moment her palm intercepted the ball and she sent it back over the net, without a need to pass it to Shamir for redirecting, she felt her heart soar, a small victorious smile slowly spreading across her face. She had aimed it just well that, if her plan worked, it would fall a few inches away from the net. Given how far the Brigid duo was from it, there was no way they would be able to keep the ball from touching the floor.

Neither she, nor Shamir, nor the audience in itself were able to contain their victorious cries when everything did indeed happen as she had envisioned. That hadn’t been just another score, but the necessary point to seal Fódlan’s victory over Brigid in beach volleyball, earning them the gold medal as well. She cheered, high-fived her partner of the last ten years or so and embraced her with such strength that they overbalanced and fell on sands which had never felt so fluffy.

“Let me go, you fool. Your excitement will kill me before we even get those medals.” Shamir huffed, trying to roll away from under Catherine.

“Hey, let me celebrate our victory for a second, will you? Don’t pretend you aren’t just as happy.” The blonde replied, yet fell to the side to let her wife breathe. It had been a tiresome match after all. They were panting, sweating under the summer heat and sheer excitement of the win.

It took them a while to regain composure, Catherine took a few seconds more than Shamir. She saw the small sneer on her wife’s face that forewarned that would be used in jest against her soon. No matter how much they had fooled around, rebuked each other and in their own manner challenged one another to be better, do better and become better, they were finally there. An Olympics won, in a modality that had seen their relationship develop just as their skills in it had.

One second later, Catherine saw herself at the podium, Shamir standing silently by her side. No matter how hard the other woman was trying to exude a cool, almost nonchalant demeanor, the smile on her lips betrayed her real feelings. Feelings that were etched all over Catherine’s face and soared to even higher grounds when she saw Rhea coming closer, two gold medals in hand, and higher still when she heard the crowd cheering her name in a standing ovation.

“Catherine! Catherine!”

Her beam widened during the following second, until she registered the fact that there was something wrong about that sound. It was almost as if it was coming from somewhere else, seemingly piercing through that perfect landscape. She was puzzled for a few heartbeats, trying to decipher that. Unless…

“CATHERINE!”

The yell was so loud it shook her awake, it actually caused her to bolt to a sitting position and give a small gasp of surprise. Her eyes adjusted as reality set down upon her, dampening her mood as she gradually realized those sweet moments had been nothing but a very good dream.

She smoothed the baggy white shirt she usually wore to bed, glanced around in order to situate herself and recognized the quarters the couple had been given for the duration of the Olympics. That was also when she saw said wife trying her best to keep a scowl on her face and not burst out laughing. Too late though, for her lips were already curling upwards and the intensity of her stare was almost altogether gone.

“Like what you see?” Catherine grumbled, knowing full well that wasn’t the reason behind the stare.

“No, I’m not a fan of slugabeds. Nor am I a fan of having to scream in the morning because my partner can’t wake up in time for our last match.” Shamir mumbled after shaking her head. Typical of Catherine to try to divert her with something like that, a scenario that had repeated itself for the last three days.

“We have an alarm clock that works just fine. What happened to it?” She queried, noticing for the first time how her wife was already fully dressed in a light purple coat thrown over the uniform and seemed ready to go. Had she overslept for that long?

“Guess what, you destroyed it after it went out for the third time and you thought it too early to be out of bed.” Shamir rolled her eyes and ran a careless hand through her undercut. She got to her feet and stretched before pacing around. She was uncharacteristically antsy that morning, though it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. Which was exactly one more reason that made her deem the blonde’s behavior as annoying. “Also, you were talking in your sleep and it looked like we had beat the whole thing already.”

“Ugh for real, let me tell you about this amazing dream I –“

The purple-haired woman held up a hand and interrupted her. “Later. Our match is in three hours or so and knowing you, you’ll need forty minutes to get ready and grab some poor excuse of breakfast before we even leave here.”

“You know, just for you I’ll do it in five.” Catherine smirked then jumped to her feet and kissed her wife for a few seconds before stepping away. “Make it six because of that kiss.”

That was answered by a grunt and a sigh, almost inaudible in the shadowed room, a bit of sunlight seeping through the window being all the luminescence they had. “At least tell me you’ve kept your uniform easy to find.” The silence that followed was enough of an answer and made Shamir facepalm. “Seriously, what am I supposed to do with you?”

“Help me find it and stop whining as always? You know the drill, we’ve been together for what, ten years now?” She teased while barely resisting the urge to turn her suitcase upside down. She had put it in the same easy-to-find spot as the last days, hadn’t she? For now, all she could remember was the dream and that was no help at all. Though inspirational enough for the day to come, it was time to focus on making that come true. So step one, get dressed.

“Ten long years of suffering, fetching for your damn water bottle and trying to make you eat something other than cheeseburgers every other day.”

That made them share a look, amethyst irises widening slightly when they met warm, inviting light blue ones. There was no way being at an event like the Olympics, as partners in life and in beach volleyball, wouldn’t bring back memories of how it had started and all that had happened between them.

Thus, when Shamir grinned and paced to stand beside Catherine then looked down at the suitcase in order to aid her, the atmosphere became more mellow and carefree even if just for a moment.

“This is always a thing with you, isn’t it?” Although those words would be harsh by themselves, they were said in a light tone. “Remember how we were almost late to our first match because you couldn’t find your shorts?”

“Oh that was a day, for sure.” Catherine guffawed. “Everyone at the club looking at us as if we were aliens in that court. Not that I blame them, mostly we were by the ring doing boxing stuff.” She said, discarding a sports bra that looked too much like their Olympics uniform but was a tad too small according to regulations.

“Fooling around and throwing punches you mean. At least that was what you did, always clowning and trying to make up some moves on your own. Not that I was any better.” The taller woman admitted, grimacing when she remembered how bad they both had been at boxing, a sport they had semi-dedicated themselves to previously in order to relieve some stress.

Sure, that had led to them meeting and starting practice together, but it had never been a means to an end. No, their training regimen became serious a few months after, almost at the same time they had started dating.

“Hey, we tried. And we weren’t complete garbage or else Rhea wouldn’t have helped every now and again.”

“… or maybe you have it backwards. We were so bad, she thought it best to teach us herself.”

“Oof, you make it look as if our teen selves were totally helpless. Though to be honest I probably was, falling in love with a fool like you.” Catherine added, making puppy eyes at the now frowning woman.

“I’m not the fool who has yet to get dressed and have something to eat, am I? Also, your six minutes are running. Get down to it.”

“All right all right, spoilsport.” She grinned, shaking her head at another pair of uniforms she had worn to past tourneys. Why did they have to look so much alike as well? Always some hue of silver or gray.

“What about these?” Shamir inquired, trying to be helpful as she lifted another bra for inspection.

“Nope, those were… hm, probably from that charity event we did around five years ago.”

“Seriously, don’t you ever clean up? When we’re back home we’ll run through your stuff and get all those old ones to the trash bin where they belong. No wonder you’ve been slowly taking over my side of the wardrobe.”

“It’s not my fault you have less clothes but the same amount of space – ah, there you go.” Catherine exclaimed at last, triumphant as she found the brand new uniform. It was a sparkly tone of silver this time, complete with the Olympics symbol and their surnames imprinted in the back in big, white letters. “Can’t believe they put your name in front of mine though. Nevrand-Charon, ew.”

“Shut it and get ready, I’ll have something set aside for you in the cafeteria. Don’t. Dawdle.” Shamir spoke slowly for emphasis and was rewarded with the lopsided grin she loved so much.

She was surprised when her partner actually managed to get a move on and gulp down her food in less time than usual. As a result, they left the Olympic Village way earlier than expected, their tardiness almost compensated for that. Well… almost was really the case, since as soon as they stepped outside of the place, both were unsure of where to go, as their match was scheduled to be held on a bigger, different stadium than the one they had used for the last three days.

“I told you we should have taken a walk yesterday night, made sure we knew how to get there, but noooo.” Catherine complained, feeling some anxiety at the prospect of being late. Although the match was indeed set to begin at 9:00 am sharp, they should be there at least two hours earlier for a last meeting with Coach Alois and the warmups. “You had to call an early night and be asleep when the sun went down.”

“Be asleep when the sun went down? Your grumbling and indoor exercises kept me awake until ten or something.” Shamir huffed back, though a part of her was well-aware of the oversight.

She wasn’t about to admit defeat, not when something so similar had already happened in at least two competitions they had attended – and in their first Olympic match as well. Almost like a tradition.

Had she vowed to not let it occur one more time? Yes. Had she stuck to said vows? Well… things were always completely unpredictable when her wife was concerned, so there was that. They always got sidetracked by something or another. Be it a kiss that took too long and evolved into something more, or a small jest that turned into a fight, it was way too easy to lose track of time when they were alone together.

And so it had been, ever since the evening when Catherine, who had been working at the Seiros Sports Club as a manager, spotted a tired-looking Shamir shadowboxing after her usual workout time and offered to be her opponent. To say that both were sloppy would be a compliment and they were well aware of it – although they were indeed attending an elite sports club and could count on the help of stellar coaches all over Fódlan, they mostly did it as a way to blow off some steam. At one point Shamir had intended to be a professional, even leaving behind the country of Dagda and any chance at maintaining a good relationship with her family for a chance to study under Rhea, but she only got to compete in beach volleyball, just like it had been with Catherine.

Though for the blonde the stakes, or rather, the price she had had to pay for that and for her actual dreams was a lot higher. But pay it she had, and there was no way she regretted not following in her parents’ footsteps and taking over their stupidly successful accounting company. No, numbers had never been her thing – ever since she was a child she had loved running, feeling the wind on her face, playing ball with her siblings and climbing to obnoxious places as her father yelled his lungs off calling for her.

Thus it came as no surprise to her closest friends in high school and the sports club when she applied for a physical education undergraduate program. What she did keep a secret from most of them, however, was the fact that this admission had cost her home and pretty much all contact with her family. If Rhea hadn’t pressed her when she declared she would be leaving the club due to financial issues, she would never have told her the story, nor subsequently gotten the job as a manager when the former boxer took pity on her.

That had been more than a decade ago, shortly before she met Shamir and her life took another change for the better. And now there she was, married to her sports partner, both of them competing in the damn Olympics for crying out loud. Not that she ever wanted to get revenge on her family for being a bit too close-minded, but take _t_ _hat_ , Charon clan.

“Earth to Catherine Nevrand.” Her wife said in an almost impatient way, snapping fingers in front of her eyes and shaking her awake from that reverie. “I think I’ve located the place where we need to be. Only problem is… it’s a bit far.”

She pointed to a signpost which was kind enough not only to indicate the general direction of pretty much all stadiums, but also what distance it was to them. The blonde cursed under her breath when she saw the one Shamir was pointing to and, without a word, grabbed her hand and set on a run.

“At least Coach Al can’t say we arrived late and unprepared.”

Against all odds they did make it on time, but that was pretty much a constant with them when it came to beach volleyball. When they had first started in the sport, they had had no more than two weeks to practice for their first tourney and ended up winning against seasoned pairs in the club, then next month were seen in the Oghma Mountains circuit.

Now there they were, doing some stretches and warmups inside a locker room, waiting for their final Olympic match to begin. And against a team that… well, to say they were amazing was an understatement if what the two had heard about their games before that and their overall scores could say something. McMurray and O'Donnan’s overall amazing performance and tendency to end matches on the second set - and with amazing scores - had earned them the nickname "The Brigid Flames". They had won regionals last season and flown through nationals as well, so no one was actually surprised when their names were announced for the Olympics.

Well, that was admirable and all, but Catherine and Shamir weren't about to let titles and previous honors interfere with their game. They had come a long way too. What would matter was the then and there, when the ball was in their hands and the spikes would roll around.

All in all, it was pretty soothing to fall into the familiarity of their pre-game routine together before a match began. Over the years they had developed a program of sorts for warmups, which consisted of jumping jacks, some crouching and planking. Then would come some knee rolls and the stretches, mostly triceps, biceps, back and lower limbs.

That, plus the jogging they had done before, was enough to make them feel warm despite the fact the locker rooms were a bit chilly. They knew it would be hot outside though and were thankful to have their game in the morning and not worry too much about burning up under the relentless sun.

A while later they were allowed into the stadium for some specific exercises before the match was even announced. They shared a glance, held hands and smiled to one another before going up some stairs and into the court area.

The first thing they noticed upon stepping outside was how packed it was, whereas before it had been too early for the audience to be there. Catherine was unable to keep herself from glancing around in all directions, though Shamir acted more composed and simply looked straight ahead, to the soft sand gleaming under the sunlight and the court that waited for them.

That sight, plus the cheers and applause that came from the spectators once they saw them, already made their hearts beat a little faster. The tingly sensation that also coursed down Catherine’s spine was too satisfying, that alone made all those days of practice alongside her sometimes grumpy wife more than worth it.

A ball was positioned next to the court and Shamir wasted no time fetching it so they could get some practice. A glance to the other side of the net revealed their opponents had yet to show up, which was both a relief and somewhat unnerving. They knew they would be going against "the Brigid Flames" for gold and silver (though two teams from Brigid had qualified due to their scores), whereas the decisive game for third place had happened the day before.

That was indeed the last day of the competition between the eight eligible teams. On day one, Dagda had won over the first Brigid pair, Sreng beat Almyra, the second Brigid duo overcame Albinea and Fódlan won against Morfis. Day two saw Dagda being beaten by Catherine and Shamir, whereas Brigid got the best over Sreng. After Dagda scored third place on day three, there they were, ready for the final match against those somewhat fearsome opponents.

“Where the hell are they?” Shamir mumbled as she propelled the ball into the air and passed it to Catherine on the next hit.

“Not our problem anyways.” She retorted, using a bit more strength than necessary when she sent the ball back with her palm. It zoomed a few inches away from her partner’s head before hitting the ground and bouncing to the sidelines.

“Do I have to remind you of the golden rule yet again?” The stoic woman rhetorically inquired, nodding to the assistant who threw another ball for her.

“Don’t treat your serves like people you want to punch.” Catherine recited, rolling her eyes at that. It had been the first thing Coach Al had told both of them when they were teens freshly out of boxing and into volleyball. Something that had to be repeated to her until this day, especially when she was nervous.

“I appreciate your great memory.” She jested, making the other woman snicker as well. Somehow those words made them both chuckle, melting whatever tension had gathered in their shoulders and allowing them to breathe a lot easier than before.

That was, until they spotted movement from the corner of their eyes and kept glancing sideways at their enemies. Their uniform was the same as theirs, sports bras and shorts in mulberry and green. The four competitors locked eyes for one moment and nodded at each other in respect before the Brigid crew began their own warmup. After making sure those two wouldn’t be in her line of fire, Shamir got a ball to herself and started practicing serves, mirrored by Catherine a few seconds later.

Soon enough the time for niceties was over and their brooding practice was shattered by Coach Alois screaming from the sidelines. They turned and couldn’t help snickering at his attire, the usual velvet jumpsuit and golden cross chain around his neck making him stand out against the entire crowd, reminding them why Anna had made a point to publish a small side note about it on the latest newspaper issue.

“Come over, kiddos. Big day, uhn?” He yelled even though they had already dropped their balls and were meandering to where he was, eyeing the water bottles lying next to the white chairs. It was already balmy outside and they knew it would only get worse as the match went on, but that was the game they played and loved.

“Isn’t it warm in this thing, Coach?” The blonde inquired, ignoring his question since she would rather distract herself before the moment of truth. No matter how many tourneys they had participated in during the last ten years, she still managed to get a bad case of nerves before each one. Add to it the fact that they were in Olympic finals and well, she was certainly more excited than ever.

Whereas she was jittery and unable to stand still, Shamir looked like the complete picture of calm. That was, if one didn’t know her as Catherine did. Her jaw was tense, shoulders slightly clenched and fingers curled inwards, small telltale signs that she wasn’t as in peace as she would like others to believe.

“This suit is my pride and joy, mind you. And it had been your lucky charm all this time! Now, enough about my clothes, I want you to know that you’re winners no matter the outcome and that you should be proud to have gotten this far.” He raised a finger to his eyes and wiped away some moisture. “You ex-boxing dorks make me feel too much."

“Ok, ok, no sentimentality before the match. Spare the tears of joy for when we win.” Shamir huffed, though the grin she couldn’t keep at bay told a different story. They did have a lot to be satisfied with, truth be told, and it would be absurd not to recognize it. “Any last minute advice, Coach?”

“Hm, not really, other than be yourselves and let them see what you’re made of. This Brigid duo has impressed everyone so far, but then so have you.” He said with some extra enthusiasm. “Just be careful to not punch the ball!”

Catherine guffawed at that and took a seat, then opened a water bottle and almost downed it at once. Shamir simply shook her head before doing the same, though she was glad they could be in high spirits before the match began. Her eyes fell to the other side of the court where the Brigid athletes had just solemnly nodded at their own coach and sat down as well, waiting until presentations were done and their names were called. A swift peek into Alois’s stupidly giant wristwatch revealed it was five to nine. Almost time.

Her attention was jerked back when the referees entered the court and positioned themselves on each side of the net. It was real; they were indeed taking Fodlan to finals in the Olympics. Instead of feeling crushed by that weight, she found herself uplifted, honored even. As if that was already a celebration of everyone's efforts.

A second later the announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium and did the formal greetings. All conversations ceased in the audience and with it the last of her own tension seemed to ebb away. Waiting was the hardest part, had always been for her, but once she was in the flow of a match everything became fluid, her mind hyper focused on playing and her connection to Catherine.

“And now to our competitors!” The announcer called. “Representing the host country, Fódlan, Shamir and Catherine Nevrand-Charon!”

“It’s Charon-Nevrand!” The blonde hissed under her breath, still fazed by her surname being placed second like that. There were thunderous claps and calls from the audience, which made her heart thud faster.

“Just accept it, dear, even they know who’s the top in our relationship.” Shamir whispered as they got to their feet and marched to the court, chuckling at the way her wife blushed.

“This won’t go unpunished, mind you.” The blonde countered with a dangerous gleam in her eyes and a smile on her lips as she took position in front of the net. She usually took first serve, but after that little display during warmup decided they could use Shamir’s level-headedness to make an entrance.

A decision she seconded after her eyes scanned through the closest rows in the crowd and she spotted not only Rhea herself beaming proudly at her, but assistant coach Jeralt sitting on her right. The wave of pride and thankfulness which engulfed Catherine was so big, she thought she would actually cry.

To see the people who had helped her stand on her own two feet and had considered her part of their family being just there, watching her on that day with smiles on their faces, was too incredible to even be put into words. Of course, all she had to do was look at her partner to feel that and even more as well.

Yes, that was certainly more than just a game for her.

Their opponents were called (Macmoore and O’Donnan, indeed) and received thunderous applause. Catherine took a moment to analyze them, especially the one who stood closer to the net and would try intercepting Shamir’s serve. Tall, lean, muscular. Eyes stark clear and trained on her as well. Ready, just like they were.

A ball was given to Shamir since Alois had won the coin toss before and she bent her knees, preparing for a referee to sound the whistle. Muscles locked into place, mind already clear and longing for what would come next. Her heart pounding a little bit, but not as fast as it had been before. A final look on her partner’s defined back under the sports bra and her silly dragon tattoo, wings spreading close to her shoulders and tail lashing at her hips, claws poised on her sides, was enough to get her grounded. They had earned that place already, now it was time to fight for the gold.

Shamir wasted no time hitting the ball after the whistle was blown, then running to the center of the court when she saw it passing above the net and the receiver’s arms. Perhaps O’Donnan hadn’t anticipated such a high serve, or was used to getting them with small hops.

Nevertheless, Macmoore intercepted it and she ran to get the pass, ready to hit the ball.

Catherine crouched in response, ready to both jump and defend that close to the net or make a run for the ball if it came sideways. When O'Donnan opted for a spike and it became clear they would try avoiding the blonde’s defense, she went for the dig and internally sighed in relief at it working, then executed a pass to get the ball higher. That was followed by Shamir’s set, which placed it in a perfect point for Catherine to do whatever she wanted.

A quick glance over their opponents showed how terse they were, their body language almost signaling they were expecting another spike and were already prepared to get it, both a bit too distant from the net. Well, she had noticed how skilled they were in the art of fast moves, it seemed. Time to test if they had prepared for slow ones too.

It was too easy for the blonde to execute a languid, yet steep shoot and simply watch as the ball careened over the net and into the ground before any of them could make a last-effort dig of their own. Score one for Fódlan.

“Nice one, wife.” Shamir congratulated as they high-fived. “Watch for those spikes, these two are fast.”

“Yeah, think we’ll have to play the slow game this time.” Catherine agreed, getting into place to act as receiver. She couldn’t wait to see Shamir at the net, as she was nimble and usually able to block a lot more than she did.

They waited for the whistle again and were surprised by how swiftly Macmoore executed the serve, the ball zooming over Shamir’s head and making the small hairs on her undercut stand on end. She turned around just in time to see an equally astounded Catherine squat and get the ball, yet her angle was off and there was too much strength behind the hit. It was sent out of the court, both referees automatically raising their hands to signal the fault.

“Oops.” The blonde sheepishly said, tying the ends of her short cropped hair more forcefully with the purple ribbons she adored. The color was intentional and everyone did know it.

“Don’t dwell on it, pal.” Her partner answered, waving it away as she took her place for serving. “Just don’t punch the ball.”

They got retribution with Shamir’s hit, which took the Brigid athletes aback by how far it went – they were sure it would probably fall off limits and didn’t even bother making a move for it, only to visibly sulk when the point was scored in favor of Fódlan.

When O’Donnan was up to serve next, Shamir stood at the net and placed both hands behind her back. She made a closed fist with her right hand and flashed a finger (the middle one, of course, because they could have fun in games even if only for a second) on the other.

Catherine smiled, temporarily mesmerized by her ear studs glittering under the sunlight, as she herself thought that there was no need to block the opponent on the right, but it would be fun to trick the one on the left. It came as no surprise when the move worked and they scored another point – Shamir was usually that perceptive when it came to playing styles and it was rare for her suggested moves to not work.

Soon they fell into a familiar rhythm and their unwavering sync, hits and plans being transmitted by glances alone. It was also easy to let muscle memory run its course as they took turns with digs and shoots, Catherine’s specialties, as well as Shamir’s astounding blocks and strikes. They were quick to adapt to their enemies’ fast and aggressive style, taking advantage of their lack of response to slower moves.

When a technical timeout was called, for the two teams’ summed scores equaled 21 (12 to 9 in favor of Fódlan), they went to the sidelines almost unwillingly, but were grateful for some water. Alois simply inquired on how they were feeling and told them to be careful with speed and positioning, as most of their misses had happened due to those two small issues. They remained silent for the rest of it and were more than happy when timeout was over.

The rest of it was still a close call, the couple so absorbed by the sport they loved that they almost failed to notice when a final whistle was blown and the first set ended, the digital board over the audience marking 28 – 26 for them.

“Hadn’t even realized we went for that long.” Shamir admitted, panting the slightest as Catherine came to smack her on the shoulder for a successful block that resulted in their last point.

“Right? That’s been one hell of a match insofar too. Different from what we’re used to and from the last few days.” The blonde said, wiping at her sweaty forehead and getting a water bottle before she even sat down. “Let’s get this next set, I want to be done with them in time for lunch.”

“Hmpf, of course your motivation would be food.” The purple-haired woman commented. “Nice work on those digs, though.”

“I may be the bottom as you called me out earlier, but at least I’m a _power_ bottom.” The blonde said with a wink, pumping her fist into the air when her partner blushed. “And justice was served!”

“I see you’re in high spirits and with reason too.” Alois remarked while approaching them. “Don’t let your guard down, these are some fierce opponents you’re dealing with.”

They simply nodded and fell into an amicable silence for a few minutes as the break went on. At first they enjoyed the nice taste that victory had given them, but had been practicing and competing long enough to know it was a trap to let that go to their heads so soon. It was no guarantee they had won the match until the last point was scored – they had seen and been in games where the flow had changed drastically in between sets.

With that in mind and nothing exactly that she wanted to discuss, the blonde let her eyes roam through the audience again and allowed herself another glance at Rhea. Luckily, the former boxer was staring right at her and Shamir so the three shared a smile and a wave as well.

Catherine was about to talk about how grateful she was about everything since she had been kicked out of home when her gaze fell on someone on Rhea’s left. Someone who hadn’t been there before and, she wondered, had zero business being present to begin with.

The man was tall and lanky, his hair a lighter shade of blond than she remembered it to be. The almost permanent frown on his wide forehead and the hint of iciness in his blue eyes hadn’t changed a bit – if only, that decade in which they had been apart only made those seem more pronounced. And of course he was looking straight at her (she wondered how long he had been there, and why as well) with a grimace and silent judgement she knew too well.

The judgement she had faced all those years ago, when she put her foot down and declared she was not going to follow in his footsteps and become an accountant. No matter how he saw fit to punish her. Even when that declaration had been met with harsh words and an immediate order to leave the house in a week or less, she had stared back at those merciless irises and kept herself firm.

After that, she had neither seen nor heard from her father, Accountant Extraordinaire Erik Charon, for that whole time. Even her marriage to Shamir had been a small ceremony in between the friends they had made at the Seiros Sports Club. They had seen no reason to notify their family and knew their presence would most likely spoil the event.

In the same way that he was doing right there and then, or at least it felt like so to her.

“Is everything ok?” Shamir inquired after a few seconds, noticing how stiff her wife was.

“Hm, that’s a… hard question now. I think my father’s here.” She replied, finally turning away to glance at her partner’s shocked expression. “Guy on the left to Rhea? He wasn’t there when the match began.”

She took a moment to give the man her own steely scowl. “Maybe that’s him, yes. He looks like a guy you showed me once in pictures. Want me to go make him leave?”

“Pf, you causing a scene like that for me. When pigs fly, hun. You’re too cold and collected for that dirty work.”

“Now who said anything about a scene when I can silently hit him with the ball and make it look like an accident?”

The idea was so stupid, but the blonde couldn’t help but imagine it and actually burst out laughing. Although she could still sense the weight of his stare, she already felt a lot better just being where she belonged, with the woman she loved and competing at the sport she had chosen to fully dedicate herself to. There was no way she would let his interference and whims destroy what was sacred to her, the life she had created with her own two hands. If he wanted a show, she would make sure he’d have one.

“There’s no need for that. Let’s make him watch as we win this match and get that sweet, sweet gold. Then invite him for our victory speech and fail to mention the Charon family completely.” The blonde replied as newfound confidence flowed through her. She got up as soon as the whistle signaled the end of break, more than willing to give their Brigid enemies a run for their money this set as well.

“Hey, don’t dwell on it, ok? Keep your head in the game and not on how stupid he is.” Shamir said before they could get to the court again, a hand carefully placed on her wife’s forearm. “Regardless of how we score, that’s a win already and damn if I’m not proud of you. Now enjoy the game, go for the digs, be the power bottom I know and love.” She ended that with a small beam, wanting to kiss her wife right there but stopping herself regardless. She'd spoil her wife later, when there weren't so many eyes on them.

“Hey, I'm proud of you too. Leaving your country behind is no easy feat. No matter what happens next, we’ll celebrate tonight because we damn straight deserve it.” Catherine answered with new enthusiasm.

“There’s nothing straight in this relationship, you doofus. Now go, we have a serve to catch and a set to win.”

With a last snicker and a high five, they parted ways and looked at their opponents, noticing the more serious aura surrounding both of them. It wouldn’t be an easy set, that was for sure. The sentiment was simply strengthened when Macmoore took first serve and used a combination of weird angle and speed to plant it right between Catherine and Shamir, before they could even register the ball had passed over the net to begin with.

_Oh, jolly_ , the blonde thought as she received a new ball from the helpers and took her position. They had probably caught on to some of their weak spots, places they tended to overlook. Taking a deep breath, she prepared her body for serving and was about to hit it when her eyes settled not on the opposite side of the net, but on the audience itself.

Her father’s gaze was indeed too piercing, too judging, too… much for that moment. For a second she felt like the little girl who had been caught punching a pillow when she was supposed to do extra math homework or spend countless hours with a tutor for basic calculus. Things had ended too wearily between them, with her simply being forced to leave and never getting any closure, no news on how her siblings and mother were.

Yet now there he was, acting as if that was just another wrong deed he had caught her doing. The thought was so strong, the fury she finally allowed herself to feel so intense that she added up a bit more to that serve than she should have to begin with. At first she grimaced, thinking the ball would go overboard, then beamed as if it had been her plan all along when it did hit inside the court. One centimeter more and it would have been over the line, so they were saved – barely, but still.

Shamir glanced back at her with a knowing, soothing quality to her expression. The reassuring smile that followed mellowed her for a while as they shifted positions again. Enough so the matter was placed aside in her mind and she could focus on the game, trying her best to predict spikes and blocks, aim her own shots at different sides of the court and feel her connection to her lifetime partner grounding her, bringing them closer in life and matches as it had for the last ten years.

That set was more of a stalemate than the last one, all things considered. The Brigid athletes had certainly stepped up their game and were able to better predict when it was best to target down specific areas that Catherine or Shamir might overlook. Maybe they had even caught on to the blonde’s difficulty to judge distances when the ball was sent to her left, which allowed them to score more often when their hits were directed there.

They changed court sides three times, as it was requested at every seven points, and yet it didn’t seem like a conclusion was close in sight. That is, until Macmoore blocked what had to be Shamir’s best shot as of then and took advantage of her position close to the net to execute a spike of her own. A final whistle sounded and they turned, realizing the score had gone 26 – 24 in favor of Brigid.

“Don’t fret, hun.” Catherine said when Shamir got close to her and they left the court for the last break in between sets, sensing her wife's distress. “We’ll do better in the next one and get out in time for lunch after all."

That was received with a grunt, but at least her mood improved in time for the game to begin anew – for the decisive set as well. Athletes from both sides were on edge, tension ebbing from them and the audience. Watchers held their flags as tall and proud as they could, cheering for them and calling out their names. It was flattering and urged them on, even more so when the pair realized Rhea and Jeralt were amongst the shouters, their eyes warm and encouraging whereas Erik remained impassive beside the former boxer.

Although thankfully the third set was shorter, going all the way to fifteen points minimum instead of the usual 21, they were too tired to focus as much as in the first two. That was why they usually did their best to win without a need for a third set, but then so did all beach volleyball players out there. By that time, they were so sweaty their hair dripped, sand covering most of their limbs after too many digs and squats to save unusual hits.

However, if nothing, all that hardship only worked to make them even more determined to win. The two teams fought hard, doing the best they could and surprising themselves with some moves they pulled out of nowhere.

Shamir redeemed herself by blocking a surprise spike, passing the ball back to Catherine and watching as her wife sent it in a graceful arc over both Macmoore’s and O’Donnan’s heads, landing with a soft plop on the far end of the court. Likewise, the Brigid partners got through Catherine’s defenses and landed a ball right in front of Shamir after making both of them think they would actually aim for her right.

That only made the cheers increase, given how much effort was being put into the match and how amazing those athletes were in general.

However, that couldn’t go on forever and there was a collective bittersweet feeling when a referee blew their whistle for the last time in that match. The board marked 15 – 13… For Brigid.

Yells of elation erupted from both sides of the audience, as if there were no winners or losers and everything had been a big party altogether. Rhea and Jeralt got to their feet first and were mimicked by the rest of those who had been cheering for Fódlan. They screamed the four athletes’ names as if it were a chant, not so unlike the dream Catherine had had in the beginning of that day.

Well, except for the fact that they had lost, that was. The realization hit her slowly at first, as she was still too dazed by the match to actually make sense of what was going on. One moment she had dug again and hit the ball on her forearm, the next a whistle had sounded and everything stopped.

“Are you ok there?” Shamir queried; she had slithered to her wife’s side unnoticed, though she herself was also feeling a bit out of it – as were their opponents, or so it seemed since they were staring around with confused expressions on their faces. “I guess none of us can deal with the fact that this is over.” She mused, ushering her partner to go closer to the net with her.

“Hm? What happened? We lost, right?” The blonde asked since a certain pair of eyes was gawking her with more displeasure than before. She averted her gaze and finally saw the board, registering the final score. Damn, that close, too…

“The ball went off limits.” Shamir answered in a whisper, then nodded in respect once the Brigid duo approached them on the other side of the net and they shook hands.

“That was on me then.” Catherine mumbled as they walked away to the lockers. They had to wait until the Dagda athletes were summoned in order to take the podium and receive their medals from Rhea herself, which would take a few minutes at the very least.

“Don’t be stupid, if you didn’t try getting that spike we would have lost anyways. It wasn’t your fault, Catherine Charon-Nevrand.” Her wife said with a small smile, more than glad to be away from the oppressive heat outside.

Without bothering to make sure someone could be watching, Shamir pressed the blonde into a cold wall and edged closer for a celebratory kiss. The motion took Catherine aback and she yelped, then melted into it and let her previous worries be washed away.

What started as chaste pecks became a somewhat hungry, possessive kiss as their lips parted, allowing tongues to touch and interlace, lips to be teased with nips and hands to roam as much as they wanted. Who cared if they were sweaty and covered by sand? After such a long relationship and all the ups and downs they had faced together, nothing could deter them for kissing after a game.

That is, unless one counted Coach Al’s boisterous voice praising them from the end of the hallway and an order for them to get back on the court for the medal ceremony.

Catherine had to admit that after the initial sting of defeat had died down, she didn’t feel bad at all about them getting second place. The ceremony had been nice too. Not as wild as in her dream, when the crowd had chanted her name to high heavens and everyone seemed to adore her like a goddess, but that was just the stuff of dreams, right?

There had been cheering when their names were announced, true. Rhea Nabatea had granted them both the proudest, wildest smiles while placing the glittering silver medals on their necks, then hugged them and whispered more praises before moving on to the winners.

Also, the Brigid duo really did deserve the gold, they had played spectacularly - everyone had, all things considered, and honestly both Catherine and Shamir could only feel tears of joy when they looked at one another. At the crowd that had watched them. At the setting, even. It was the Olympics, after all, and they _had_ taken Fódlan pretty far.

Yes, it was more than ok for them to be happy with themselves. It had been a long journey, one that wouldn't end right there with a nice ceremony but was still just starting, even if they had been playing for a decade or so.

The shiny silver medal that hung from her neck felt as if it had always belonged there, matching their uniforms and Shamir’s silver earstuds. She smiled to herself, replaying that award ceremony and the nice stuff they heard from Rhea, as she and her wife strolled out of the stadium at last, more than eager for a nice shower and an even nicer meal.

“So you haven’t changed in the slightest I see, still an utter disappointment.”

While those words did wake her from her reverie, she wasn’t surprised to see Erik Charon himself standing in front of them, blocking their way outside.

“Excuse me?” Shamir bristled beside her, squeezing the blonde’s hand a bit too tightly. "Are you looking for a damn fight?"

“Don’t bother, hun, that’s my father for you. Have you been doing well?” She asked with a politeness that bordered on jest.

“Much better than you, at the very least.” The man retorted, eyeing them both with disdain. “When your mother heard that your name had been announced for the Olympics, I just sneered at it and said you were probably going to be disqualified in round one. And in beach volleyball, no less.” He sneered, as if the sport were an insult. “It surprised me to see that you got to finals, all things considered.

“But of course you wouldn’t achieve something as important as getting a gold medal to your country at the very least. Tell me we weren’t wrong when we insisted you followed in the family business, Cassandra.”

No one had used that name for literally years and a shiver ran down her spine at hearing it. She felt too many bad memories stirring from that alone, which had been reason enough for her to go as Catherine after she left her parents’ mansion.

“You abandoned your daughter without so much as a word for ten years, then decide it’s ok to just come and bash her after one hell of a game? Who even are you?” Shamir said with a scathing glance. "Do you even know what she's been through all these years? Or better yet, do you even care? No, let me have this for a bit. I've been dreaming of talking to this bastard for as long as we've been together." She added as Catherine tried to stop her, gaze boring holes into his skull. It was rare for her to get that mad but when she did… everyone knew it was better to run for cover.

After a deep breath, she kept her promise and went on: "This is my wife you're talking about. My goofy wife who can never find her uniform before a big game. This woman has a heart of gold and you've let your obnoxious, closed off mind push her away from you. All because she didn't want to follow the path you carefully planned out for her. Well, that's insane. That's being selfish to a level that… ugh. I thought my parents were stupid to resent me because I abandoned my country to follow my dreams. But you, sir? With all due respect, the respect you never had to your daughter, you're the biggest waking definition of a jerk that I've ever seen in my life.

"You've decided it was best to lose her than to accept her for who she is. A sportsperson who has tried hard to earn her place - and more than deserved to be here. We didn't even bother inviting you lot to our wedding since we knew you'd make every goddamn thing about you. Guess we were right, hm? The one opportunity you have of making amends and here you are, messing everything up and showing you haven't changed the slightest. You're still the bastard who threw his eighteen-year-old kid on the streets because she didn't want to be an accountant. So please, spare us the sight of you. Do yourself and all of us a favor and get. The hell. Out."

An awkward silence ensued, with Erik getting more and more flushed as Shamir's words sunk in - they did take a while to do so, after all this was a man who wasn't used to being talked back to like that. Maybe he would have tried humiliating them, sputtering meaningless words, if a melodious voice nearby hadn't interrupted his thoughts.

“I am so proud of you, my dears. You have played wonderfully, as always, and it makes me happy to see how well you’ve performed not only here, but over the years as well.”

Rhea sidestepped Erik as if he weren’t there to begin with and embraced both women as she said that. “Don’t take this loss to heart, please. You were incredible and deserving of praise.”

“Yeah kiddos! I knew you had it in you ever since I saw you girls playing for the first time, but this? Amazing. Oh, the memories it brings…” Alois exclaimed, making the partners blush and guffaw at that. Shamir's fury all but forgotten at the face of such praise. He noticed Catherine’s father glancing at the exchange with an angry expression and added: “Sorry pal, who are you again? If you’re an agent or something, they’re very well-represented already.”

That, followed by Erik’s stomps as he decided to give the matter up and finally walk away, made them laugh as loud as possible. Even more so when Jeralt, who just stood there quietly but had heard everything, slightly positioned his foot in order to make the burly man trip and almost lose his balance. They knew who he was and what his presence had meant, plus the insults he had seemed so keen to hurl at Catherine – their Catherine, the woman they had watched grow from a sad, secretive teenager into the hurricane of motion and energy that she had become once she was free from her family's designs.

“You know what, all this talk of being proud and celebrating made me hungry.” The blonde exclaimed as she pulled away from Rhea and Shamir, her eyes filled with happy tears nonetheless. “Let’s go for the biggest lunch we can afford right now. Then later we should look for the Eisners, I really wanna know how they're both doing in their events."

"Hmpf, is that some old competitive thing between the three of you?" Shamir joked, beaming a little at her wife. It was good to see she hadn't really taken her father's words to heart. "I do think we should check on that kid too. Ignatz. I can't wait to see how he fares."

"Oh absolutely. I was relived to see that he made it." Catherine nodded, uplifted. The show would go on and now at least they could get some rest, watch how others they cared about performed, while giving more than enough space for the people who didn't really matter, to go away once and for all.

They watched Erik’s retreating form until it rounded the corner, before setting on their own merry band to the nearest cafeteria, which just so happened to be on the opposite side her father had turned to. In the end they would never see eye to eye, she knew, but it was ok. She had found her own family after all, one that adored and continued to cherish her every step of the way.

Catherine had never been good with numbers, as her blood relatives would wistfully say. However, at that point in time, when she felt Shamir placing her own medal at the blonde’s neck, she knew the only numbers that would ever matter were how many decades she and her actual family would get to spend together like that.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhh this project has been so, so much fun to be a part of! And time did seem to fly as we went about it as well. I really want to thank both Ashe and Quali for not only making this happen and inviting all of us, but for the amazing discussions and conversations too. You guys and everyone in the server have literally made my days :3 And I'm super glad for all the people I got to meet, for this lovely community that is equal parts chaos, love and a lot of megaphones going around (but honestly you deserve it, you're all amazing).
> 
> Writing Cathmir was a challenge, but one hell of a funny one, as I've never written them before heehee. A huge shoutout to Felaniasoul for betaing and making sure this chapter didn't look like a mess of words or anything of the sorts xD Thanks for everything!
> 
> It's been a blast to see this project coming to light day by day. I hope you guys are also enjoying it! I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments on this and thanks for reading!


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